Caged Birds Cry
by elisuni
Summary: Dick Grayson,15, December 3, is murdered- kidnapping. Robin, unknown, December 15, murdered- Court of Owls. Jason Todd, 13, March 15, murdered- terrorist attack. Robin II, unknown, March 21, murdered by Joker. Over five years have past since Dick Grayson's and Jason Todd's deaths, but as new secrets rise, so does a new Robin- whether the savage Batman wants him or not. (Talon!Dick)
1. Chapter 1

**ION - I Own Nothing**

 _ **"We think caged birds sing, when indeed they cry."**_

 _ **~John Webster**_

 **~U~**

* * *

With every raindrop hitting the ground, the world was blurred away.

It wasn't a bad thing, though. It was good.

With every second, the world became more and more focused, pain being washed away in favor of dancing. With each step, there was a chance he'd fall, but that was irrelevant. He'd forgot who he was. He'd forgotten what it meant to be _him_.

He forgot what it was like to just breathe.

Rain hit the roof, washing the world in crystals. He raised his chin to the sky, a smile lightly spread across his face. It was beautiful, the gray world filled with music only he could hear. He was so close, so close to freedom. Only degrees away.

As the temperature continued to descend into freezing grades, he just kept smiling. His arms and legs began to stiffen. But he welcomed it. He was so close. So close to freedom.

He'd done so much. Not much of what he'd done was good. Ever since forever, all he knew was pain. Yelling, words in his head accompanied by a numb cold. Ever since he could remember, all he'd been was a tool. Nothing more. A weapon to be used.

He was called a "Talon."

But he was no Talon. He never had been. He almost forgot this. But then... then, when he realized he was forgetting, he realized. He could never lose himself. Because names were just names. Pain was just pain. He couldn't let that change him. He needed to always be himself... never change.

He always needed to fly.

He knew at his heart, that's all he was. Just the sky. Soaring high, he'd never been created to listen to some Court. Never been created to be caged. He had to hold onto all that was left, protecting it with everything he had left. Even if that was nothing.

He had to protect it.

Rain thickened, his step still sure despite the ground beneath him turning to ice. He glided in between the tears, slipping between the air as if he were the wind himself. Even though he was thirty stories in the air, dancing on the edge of a roof with no net, ice forming beneath his feet, his face was serene.

Because all it took was another step.

Just one more step.

And everything would be okay.

It would all be fine.

Just like it was supposed to be.

No more pain filled his heart, knowing he was going to expiate his sins. He knew with one more step, one more lean, one more twirl, it would all be okay... everything would be washed away.

He took in the humid air, rain coating his throat. Jagged pieces of hail began to cut at his skin, but the blood release was not red. It was blue. Because he didn't need oxygen. The blood in his veins moved him, but had no use for oxygen.

Talons didn't need oxygen. They didn't need food, rest, eyes, hearts... they were just people with their souls locked away. But he wasn't a Talon.

Because he felt the beat in his chest.

He felt the tears on his cheeks.

He felt his soul crying. Mourning what it had done.

He was no Talon- never had been. He'd never forgotten who he was. He couldn't, he wouldn't, it was his choice. And in the end, that's all it came down to. All he could ever hold on to.

Choice.

No matter how the Court hurt him, no matter what they did, what they threatened, in the end, they could never, ever take away his agency. No one ever could.

He took the step, arms open wide as he cut through the air. He felt his body freezing in the Gotham air. He closed his eyes, smile so peaceful it seemed he was already an angel.

But before he hit the ground, he opened his eyes, tucking into a roll just on time. His body was stiff, frozen. He was honestly kind of surprised he didn't shatter. He stumbled, falling into an alley.

He didn't let himself die because he knew: He had to find his own peace.

He guessed the jump was just a way of playing with the idea. Because he wouldn't do it- he was another life. He could never take another life. Even if that life was his own.

He disappeared into the gloom of Gotham, silent in his footsteps. He would fix himself by fixing his wrongs. That's all he could do. All he _wanted_ to do.

* * *

 **: _Sometimes the most beautiful people are beautifully broken_ :**

 **:R.M. Drake:**

* * *

 **A/N:** NO! I PROMISE I'M NOT STARTING ANOTHER STORY! I just... I needed an angsty, feelz-jacked story. Um, so this is a ONE-SHOT. But that doesn't mean I won't continue one day some day... maybe. If I feel like it. For now- it's a one-shot. As I said, I needed Talon angst and pain. Yep. So here it is. Hope you enjoyed! Please review if you can!

 ** _~Universe_**


	2. Chapter 2

**ION**

 **I Own Nothing**

* * *

 _ **Part 1: He**_

* * *

Walking through the coldly shifting air, he let his eyes wander across the streets, taking in the world.

High, towering buildings. People clogging and crowding the streets. Cats flickering among the alleys and gargoyles that perched in their majesty on the Victorian buildings. Rats tittered and scampered about. "Innocent" children wandering aimlessly, hands moving into pockets far too fast for most to see.

He shook his head, his lips pressed thin, hands shoved firmly in his own pockets to ensure no one mistook him. Reaching up, he made sure his hood was fit over his head and shadowing his face. Pushing out a breath, it made no cloud in the air despite the freezing temperature.

Near him a woman hailed a taxi, bending down and talking to the driver before walking away. Giving her a glance, he decided to find out why she'd left. He bent down to the window. Inside a man sat gruffly, his bald head gleaming and rounded figure toned by muscles and inked in tattoos.

The man glanced up, anger in his pale blue eyes. "Watcha' want, kid?"

He blinked in surprise, although logically he knew he shouldn't have, he _had_ been the one to approach. He pointed to the back seat and the driver shrugged. He stepped in tentatively, taking a seat on the torn and threadbare seats. He shifted.

"Where ya wanna' go?"

He didn't know. He was just going on a hunch here that the cab was part of something he ought to look into. He raised his finger forward, causing the driver to not only raise an eyebrow, but also shrug, saying: "Whatever. You're paying."

He took a deep breath as the car lurched forward, uncomfortable by the sensation. He cocked his head, wondering how he could question the man without talking. Looking around, his eyes caught on the heater, hungry for the cold to be blown away. The driver must have seen his desperate stare, as he flicked it on.

"You a cold li'l crepper, are ye?"

He didn't answer, merely looking up at the man in confusion. He did not know what a "crepper" was. The man sighed. "'Ome on, punk. Yur making me like yeh."

He cocked his head again, blinking. He had no idea if that were a good or bad thing. The driver settled further into his seat, quiet for a long while before glancing over his shoulder. "Mm... so we been driving 'while now, 'ow bout ya take off the hood?"

He paused for a moment before reaching a thin hand up and pulling back his hood slowly. He briefly saw his reflection in the mirror, his features washed out and pale. He missed his bright blue eyes, wishing away the gold peering at him. He missed his natural-colored skin instead of the white stretching over delicate-seeming blue veins. He wanted his inky black hair, aching to see the color that had been reduced to a pale gray.

The driver seemed shocked at his appearance, nearly crashing into the side of the street and letting out a stretch of curses. When the car was back on track and under the driver's control, the man whistled. "Took me for a surprise there, kid. Don't see alotta light people here. Black hair, blue eyes, that's the definition of ma old lady, Gotham. But how'd you get lookin' like that?"

He wasn't sure if the man was complimenting his appearance or alienating it. He went with alienation, as that pretty much summed up his life.

Without an answer, the man continued. "Whoo-whee. It almos' makes me wanna' keep yeh for m'self. But I gotta contract' ta feel. Sorry 'bout this kid. It's jus' how Gotham works."

Wait- was something happening?

"Yur probably not from around here or yeh'd have checked out the cab firs'. Makes me feel bad. I like yeh. But," the driver sighed. "This is wha' I 'ave ta do. G'night, little crepper." The man reached to press a button, putting on a mask at the same time. On cue, purplish fog crept out of the vents, filling the car.

He didn't know what to do. Should he act as if it worked? As if he was knocked out? Or was he suppose to act dead? He really didn't know. So he just sat there. After about five minutes, the driver began looking panicked. He was yelling something through his oxygen mask that his rider couldn't understand.

Finally, a fan began blowing and the driver twisted, tearing off his mask. "HOW'RE YEH NOT ASLEEP?"

His charge blinked owlishly, almost innocently. He watched as the driver sunk into his seat, beginning to hyperventilate while muttering to himself. The man suddenly froze, and he watched calmly as the man grabbed a phone, sticking it to his ear after dialing a number.

After a moment, the man's mouth wet off at an alarming speed. "Boss! E's not asleep! Five minutes o' the gasser and he 'asn't so much 's twitched! What d' I do?!"

He stopped listening. He was supposed to be asleep. So should he act as such? Was he getting "kidnapped"? Either way, he gently lowered himself to the seat, resting his head in the hood of his jacket. The cab driver kept panicking for a moment before noticing the ruse, but not seeing past it. His cold and stubby hand worked its way into his charge's hoodie to check for a pulse. Slow and steady. He heard the driver sigh in relief whilst restraining himself. He did not like being touched. In fact, it took just about everything he had not to kill the man.

* * *

 ** _The Beginning of Alfred's Tale_**

* * *

Bruce Wayne.

He was known for many things. His fame. His looks. His money. His entrepreneurship. His love of ladies.

But there were some things he was much happier about being known for. Namely his great skill in managing the money he'd been given. But if he was honest, the favorite thing to see on magazine covers wasn't himself with a random chick, it was him with his son. But that was long ago. Now he doesn't like magazine covers at all. Now he is hurt, broken by the world, rotted to point of being cold and much to busy for the pleasantries of life, certainly for a child. That does not mean that fate isn't cruel and did not give him one, though.

Timothy Wayne.

Left to Master Wayne in the will of the boy's parents, it was made official just a week ago.

My Master does not yet know how fate had lain it that another little ink-haired, azure-eyed little boy had wormed his way into his life and onto his lap, or why. But this was different than the others. Much different than before.

The others... they are never spoken about by any. But I, as Alfred Pennyworth, feel it a responsibility to tell you the story of the infamous playboy and his journey into not only Batman, but the ruthless, cold CEO of the most powerful company in the world. And it all started with one, innocent, precious, and heart-melting little boy with midnight black hair and dark azure eyes, the only one able to break the ice that gripped the man.

Before it is too late for Master Bruce and Master Timothy, I must tell you the story with urgent hast.

The story of Dick Grayson.

* * *

 **I need to explain some things. Okay. A lot of things.**

 **1 - This story has been nagging at me a long time. So I'm going to write until I get writer's block. So yeah.**

 **2 - My computer is broken but sometimes you just NEED to write no matter the pain, so yeah. I get a new computer tomorrow so I'll be back in business with my normal stories. So excuse my mistakes, please.**

 **3 - Every chapter will be comprised of 2 (possible up to 4, there are 4 but which one I choose will alternate) parts. If it says "Part 1" it's current and about "him" (he doesn't have a name yet in the story although I'm pretty sure we all know who he is), If it says "Part 2" it is Alfred telling about the PAST... okay just read this:**

 **Part 1 = Current and with "him."**

 **Part 2 = Past from Alfred's P.O.V, he's telling the story**

 **Part 3 = Current with the Waynes**

 **Part 4 = you will find out #mysteriousmusic**

 **AAAANNNDDD 4 - (IMPOORTANT!) This story is way bigger than my summary. If I give a better one, it will reveal things about the story. So this will be awesome. I promise. THHHANKS.**

Please review, if you can! Thanks! My "" button is't workig real well... (try ad guess which oe)

 _ **~Universe**_


	3. Chapter 3

**ION**

 **Part 1: He (Present)**

* * *

When the car finally pulled to a stop, he was just getting impatient. He had never been good at sitting still for long periods of time. The driver got out, the door slamming shut behind him as he headed off. With prone and sensitive ears, he listened as the driver began conversing with someone outside the car.

"Just a kid," the driver started, "Probably no older than fifteen, probably less. But he's got the lightest skin I done ever have seen and the brightest o' gold eyes. He doesn' seem ta be from Gotham."

"Good. Mont, you are slowly working your way outta debt. Only 'bout five more."

"Boss, I dun't think so." The driver, Mont apparently, had greed simply leaking off his tongue as he said this.

"Oh?" came the incredulous response.

"Yeh. I'd say this 'uns enough ta finish me off."

"Well, I don't think he'd be worth five times the average-"

"Jus' take a lookit him."

There was silence a long moment before, with a sigh, this "Boss" approached the car. He resisted flinching as the door near his head was pulled open, and appraising eyes surveyed him coldly. After a long and uncomfortable moment- at least for him- there came a loud and surprised sigh. "Well, you really outdid y'self, Mont. I think just maybe we could pardon y'now."

He couldn't see it, but he knew the smile on Mont's face was truly atrocious. "If there's extra?"

"We keep it."

"But-"

"Mont, you get your life and out of debt. That's all I am gonna offer."

Mont grumbled. "Fine. But…" his voice softened, it sounded almost… concerned. "I dunno what it is, but this kid… just, go easy on 'im? Got it?"

The Boss hesitated. "Not m'choice, Mont, but I'll try. Now, package 'im up."

He flinched as someone leaned over him, nearly growling as the person, Mont, grabbed his wrists and stuck them in cuffs, following suit with his ankles. Mont then dragged him out, holding him bridal style as he strained to keep his eyes closed and not attack… or kill… anyone. Mont set him in something soft but small, and with a click, he knew he was alone.

Eyes flashing open, he found himself in a frighteningly small space. It wasn't all uncomfortable, but movement was for naught. He did not like small spaces, trying to calm himself by breathing. Breathing always reminded him of what it was like to be alive. And that settled his panic. Usually.

The crate rocked beneath him, settling back after a moment. An engine then revved, and forward the whole world seemed to move. He did not know where he was going, all he knew was he needed to be ready to help whoever was there.

* * *

 **Part 2: Alfred (Past)**

* * *

It all started a long, long time ago.

Over a decade. Fifteen years ago, on April First. My Master, the Famous Bruce Wayne, had decided to give up a night of his dark crusade to put on a face for the press, taking none other than the famous Vicky Vale to further place his innocent story.

He took her to Haley's Circus, which had arrived in town just the day before. Master Bruce had spent a few moments there the night before in cape and cowl, and I do believe he had even smiled when the boy had looked to him, thanking him for protecting his family.

Master Bruce was never the lightest child. Even before it happened, he was different. Almost manic. Blood had never phased him. Even before the age of six he'd seen a fair part of his own, spending long days in the woods and coming back triumphant yet battered. After _it_ happened, any light that was in him departed. I tried to help, but I was not enough. I am surprised to yet this day he had not completely crossed the line. He was a strong child, strong man. Even with the anger, lust, and hatred in his heart, he still did not succumb. But he did not let go.

Then that night. They fell. In his head, he watched it, playing over and over again. Two bangs and two thuds. Then feet running. He was Batman. He should have saved them. Simultaneously crashing to the ground. Simultaneously the crack of necks and the gun. Simultaneously the cry of an eight year old billionaire and and an eight year old Gypsy, crying to the world. Asking _why_ , just why?!

Simultaneously, the pain of the world, settling upon two, now four, innocent shoulders, drooping under weight they were to small to bear. Numb blue eyes staring bloodshot and unresponsive at their whole world- broken and bloody. Two cries for their mothers, four little hands pushing on her chest. To raven-haired heads bowing into the neck that was suppose to be their cradle, telling them it would be okay. Two tongues, stuttering as the blood of their parents washed over them, everywhere.

The same thing. Two different people.

IT WASN'T SUPPOSED TO HAPPEN- NOT AGAIN.

 _NOT AGAIN!_

Bruce may as well have been in as much shock as Master Richard himself.

The whole world. Falling over and over on them, beating them down to the dirt.

Bruce came home ruffled that night- no, an absolute mess. I didn't ask what happened. I hadn't seen him like that for years. I must teach you all something.

The eyes.

All my Masters wonder my trick, and the answer is simple. If there is any goodness in a person, their eyes will be an open book. Just read them. And this expression? These eyes? I had only once before seen them. Nearly twenty-five years ago.

* * *

 **Part 3: Waynes (Present)**

* * *

Now, Tim would say he was no genius, but that was not entirely true. He had the IQ to contradict himself there. Regardless, he was not an idiot. Bruce Wayne was Batman. And Bruce Wayne aka Batman was in denial.

Denial.

Really.

 _Denial_.

"I _know_ you're Batman!" he tried again. Mr. Wayne just stared down his perfect nose incredulously.

"Timothy, I have not a clue what you are talking about." His voice was not soft. It was cold. Like a wall. Tim hated walls. They got in the way of hack- eh-hem. Walking. Yes. Walking. "But I do know such nonsense will _not_ be allowed in _my_ home."

"But you-" Tim sputtered. "I SAW you go into the Batcave! I-"

"You really are a dim child, aren't you? Go to your room. Now."

"But-"

Any patience left in his guardian's eyes departed completely as the man grabbed Tim's wrist in a painfully tight grip, yanking them until they were nose to nose. His breath was minty and sharp as he stared directly into Tim's eyes. "You will go to your room. If I _ever_ hear a breath from you that I think has to do with this, I _will_ punish you."

Tim stumbled as Bruce pushed him back, turning. Tim watched with huge blue eyes as the man walked away. He didn't understand. He… he never… When he was little, he'd met Dick Grayson. He'd asked Dick if Bruce was really a bad dad. Dick had laughed, turning to him with those _eyes_. Tim would never forget what he said.

"Well, Timmy, Bruce may be a wee crazy but he's almost as smart as you, and he's got a _special_ mancave downstairs. If you ever get the chance to see, I suggest you tell him: 'I need justice!' And from then on? You've got the best, strongest, most _amazing_ Dad in the whole wide world!" the wink he'd then given before wandering off with the Commissioner's daughter was enough to tell Tim that not only was his hunch right about Batman, but also that Dick- _Robin-_ was happy he knew. He had almost felt like he had a family.

He didn't know what happened. This was _not_ the Bruce Tim had heard about. Not the man who he had dreamed he could meet for so long. Choking, Tim stumbled upstairs to his room, closing the door and collapsing. From under his pillow he pulled out a brown leather-bound book. He knew he ought not have it. He knew that if Bruce caught him, he would be dead meat. But something about the words held in loopy cursive soothed the aches of his day.

 _September 6, 14 years old_

 _Wow! Today was a real long day! Just like every day, but who am I to talk? I'm just so glad to be alive sometimes! This morning, I woke up at three am. Another nightmare. But I'll put that in my dream journal._

 _I still ache sometimes, but for the most part, most of the scars from Two-Face are gone. But he still lingers in my dreams. Strangely, it's never me being beaten, but Jaybird. It hurts so much. I always wake up crying. I know I'm kind of weak, but no one can hurt my brother. It's just… Jay is so important to me. He's been hurt so much, and I never want to see him even sad again._

 _I went outside, but I had to be careful not to wake Bruce. He gave me the room he had when he was a kid, which is right across the hall from his and right by Jay's. Jay and I share a bathroom, so I had to use the one downstairs. But that's okay. It was raining outside._

 _I love the rain so much. It's my favorite place to be. I always remember what my mother used to tell me:_ "And, when we realize the world is so much bigger than us. And the rainbow promisiuni, el este real, o mai bună atunci când există Mâine este atât de mult mai mult decât noi." _It always makes me happy to feel all the little angel tears all over._

 _I just sat outside in my pajamas. I kinda lost track of time, I was watching the sun rise from the roof of the barn. I hadn't realized how panicked Bruce would be until suddenly he was crushing me. Apparently, Jay had had a nightmare too and had wanted to sleep with me, but when he couldn't find me, he went to Bruce and the two had been looking since FOUR AM. They'd been looking for FOUR hours._

 _School was pretty chill, but Jason nearly got expelled again. This time Bruce sweet-talked out of it with a bit of green sticking out if his pockets, but I swear, sooner or later it will be a better investment to just buy Gotham Academy._

 _When I got home from school, there was some blonde chic at our door. When I asked who she was, she threw a tantrum and told me to mind my own business. Turns out, she was going to try and talk to Bruce. I think Jay let her in. I mean, I KNOW Alfred wouldn't and Jay was at home grounded. The lady's name was Camile Shrei. Crazy lady. Freaked me out._

 _Alfred made shrimp for dinner- but Jason hates shrimp. He tried to feed it Ace under the table, but despite Batman being oblivious, Batler was no such thing. Usually I would have laughed, but Jason's punishment is that he has to make dinner tomorrow. That's a punishment to us all…. Except Alfred who I just KNOW survives off of tea._

 _Patrol was pretty calm, just the usual about. Except egg-cracking-Penguin-butting CAMILE SHREI just so HAPPENED need to be saved from a GANG selling weed-based LIP GLOSS. I mean- what the flying flamingoes?! What is WRONG with this lady?! And after I saved her- she tried to get me to go HOME with her- she kept flirting… gagagagagagaaGAAAAG. Lucky for her Bat!Daddy wasn't there, or she may not have gotten out with just some time in jail for buying weed. Still disturbed. I tried confiding in Jason but he just laughed his head off. He told me Gotham street girls are CRAZY and that he was four the first time someone flirted with him. THAT IS SO MESSED UP. But he said it was okay because he just pick- pocketed her and left her with a rat named Cupid who somehow always returned to the alley between McDonalds and Kitty Ko.._

 _Well, it's real late and tomorrow I promised Wally and Roy I would help them hack the school system to erase their tarty days. It's not their fault they were saving the city._

 _Goooodniggght!_

 _I'm thankful for…._

 _Jason_

 _Bed_

 _Pillow_

 _Sleep_

 _Alfred_

By the time he was done, Tim had to keep himself from laughing. Dick had been an awesome person. He eventually quieted enough to sober. Through this journal, he felt like he really knew his would-have-been brother. If only…

"I see you really enjoy that."

Tim shrieked, throwing the book in the air and whirling violently with his eyes wide. "A-Alfred!"

The butler waltzed in the room, bending down. "Don't worry, I won't tell. Plus," he sighed, straightening. "It's what Master Richard would have wanted. I have something for you, if you promise not to tell Master Bruce."

Still startled and unsettled, Tim nodded nervously. Out of seemingly thin air, Alfred handed him a huge stack of books with two neatly wrapped parcels on top. "There you are. Remember, Master Dick… he… he would have adored you."

After Alfred left, Tim silently ventured over to look at the stack. He read the books' covers first. Ten in total, five were journals- surprisingly, two of which were Jason's. Three of the others were logs, including files on villains. The other two were on criminology and advanced hacking. Tim's hands were shaking by the time he got to the parcels. He opened the one with a one on it first.

As soon as the brown paper was pulled back, Tim's heart literally froze. At least, that's what it felt like. Inside sat a uniform. Red with a yellow and black cloak. His fingers ran over the stylized R, eyes on the verge of tears. Behind the uniform was a utility belt and a t-shirt. Holding the t-shirt up, he found it was a soft fossil blue, worn to the point of feeling impossibly soft. A white stencil showed silhouettes of trapeze artists with the title beneath: " _The Flying Graysons."_ A letter fell out as the fabric unfurled, and in haste, Tim pulled the obviously old paper open.

The handwriting was large and sloppy to start, seemingly a young child's handwriting.

 _Hullo. I am Dick Grayson. Recently I became Robin. I know I coold die at any time. I know if I die, Bruce wil bee very, very hurt. Bruce mite not know it yet, but he NEEDS a Robin to be his lite. Alfred and I talked about this, and he helped me make this. I'm not grate at Inglish yet, but Alfie sayd he'd help me rite this. I'm trieing my best, thoe. In anee case, I need whoever Alf givs this to to know. You r now Robin._ Loloduianchir _, in Romany, my Muther Tung. You R now the lite to Batman's darknes. Plese._

The handwriting was now much more elegant, and startlingly familiar.

 _I'm back again. Wow, I had BAD handwriting! And spelling! Anyway, to the point._

 _I… I know I can't live forever. Being Robin is dangerous. So I want to leave this. Jason, you, I want you to be Robin. You're the only one who can. You NEED to be Bruce's light. If I die, Bruce will be even worse than he was before me. You need to stop him from crossing the line. Please. Jason. You are my brother. You always were. And I need you. If I die…. I'm so, so sorry. But if I do, please. For me, protect Bruce? Become Robin. Oh, and, uh, I'm patient. Don't make a rush to join me. Jason, Alfred will only give this to you if I die. So, if you're reading this, I love you so much, baby bro. But now, I must say da Devlesa,_

 _You are now Robin._

Tim's breath caught in his throat. He was no Jason, so why did Alfred give this to him? With tears, he opened parcel number two. He once again froze upon seeing a uniform very similar to the first with a few changes. Again, underneath was a yellow utility belt and a t-shirt. This shirt was red and plain with the exception of small black letters reading "I'm a Survivor." Tim slid his hand in the fabric, finding once again a carefully folded piece of paper. He opened it, taking a deep breath before jumping in.

 _Alfred sayz this is wat Dick did wen he became Robin, so… so… despite the hurt, I will to._

 _Dick died just a couple months ago, but I now he would want me to take his mantle. I… I want to just see him again. I used to want to be Robin. Now I just want Dick back. In any case, Im not talking to Dick. Im talking to YOU._

 _Yeah. YOU._

 _If Alfred gave this to you, I know you are the 1. Bruce is probably a total Joker-butt to you, because if you get this, it means both Dick and me are… gone. But we new the risks. So yeah. We trust Alfie to choose the correct person. Whoever you are, you are… your…_

 _The next Robin._

Tim's hands shook, his eyes frozen on the words. " _You're the next Robin."_

 _Please. This job is so much more important that just helping people. Your primary job is not to save others, but save Bruce. Because both Dick and me new that Bruce really didn't need much help out there. Your job? To be his light. The one that can smile. Because if Bruce ever loses sight… then he will never come back. And Gotham NEEDS a Batman- but not one just as insane as the fows he locks up. So… I, Jason Peter Todd-Wayne, now officially hand you the title, the mantle, the gift and the burden of… of…_

 _Robin._

* * *

 **Hello! Nothing to say but I do appreciate faves, follows, and reviews! Thanks all you amazing readers! Byyyye!**

 _ **~Universe**_


	4. Chapter 4

**ION**

* * *

 **Part II**

* * *

If I hadn't known better, I openly admit my surprise would have been great when Master Bruce not only stormed out of the manor in a mad and blind rage but also returned with none other than Richard Grayson himself.

However, I did know better and as such picked the two up myself. It was truly wretched sight, the Detention Center. Crumbling bricks dyed by time and iron to a bright and sickly yellow, brown smearing the walls from goodness' knows what, the fading letters of the sign reading "Go ham uven tion Cent" instead of the intended "Gotham Juvenile Detention Center," and large walls blanketed with harsh barbed wire.

Master Bruce had come out, still in slight anger, to the car; and I found beside him walking a truly tiny eight year old. With long, inky black bangs and glowing azure eyes, Dick Grayson could have easily passed for Bruce's own biological son. His skin was toned with an olive color, and exotic almond eyes further attested to his Romany heritage, but if one did not know better, he could have passed with little suspicion.

Despite the fear in the boy's eyes- the downtrodden and beaten look- he still seemed to have a bounce to his step I had not seen in Bruce for years- and even then, the rarity of such innocent delight had always been slightly foreign to my Master.

I do not know precisely what happened at every moment of Master Richard's days in the Detention Center, but he has confided in me somewhat. Despite this, in essence, his journals are all that I need- as long as I can translate the wild French he wrote in. French because Master Richard's mother tongue, Romany, was a nomadic and non-written language. His mother, who grew up the most part of her life in France, taught him instead to write in such a language. Master Richard had always been a careful journalist, something to thank him for, as it helps fill in the holes of the story I am telling you.

Now, to begin; it, of course, all started mere hours after the death of the young Master's parents. Instead of comforting hand, the cops had grabbed his wrists and quite literally dragged him from his parents, whom were already being bagged. They had thrown him at the feet of Jack Haley, saying his social worker would arrive soon.

The next part I am going to tell you… you must remember the utmost importance. If Master Bruce or I had known this, I do believe… things may have taken a different course. As it is, in scribbled French, this is what Master Dick wrote- in rough translation:

 _"_ _I… the whole world was falling around me… and I… I was so lost. Thrown at the feet of Pop Haley, I thought someone may be able to protect me. Somehow rescue from the indescribable pain that seemed to consume me. When Pop knelt, I thought he'd do what he'd always done. I thought he'd take my face in his huge hands and explain that even if right now it wasn't going to be okay, that someday the Circus and all my family in it would make it okay. That Daj_ [Mother] _and Dadu_ [Father] _were in heaven now, that God held their hands, and they would watch over me until I came to join them. He would help me believe it. That's… that's what he'd always done._

 _"_ _But not this time._

 _"_ _This time, when he knelt, his words didn't soften the pain but hit me like a sand bag falling from the stage._

 _"_ _It's time to go with them, Gray Son. It's time to join your parents. Your Grandfather." He said this coldly, all the "Pop" in "Pop Haley" gone. I was choking inside, the pain already too agonizing to bear… when… when… he pulled… a knife…_ _an Owl crescenting it… out and… he tried to… to…_

 _"_ _No._

 _"_ _The problem is, I was so broken. I couldn't see straight with the blood in my eyes. Plus, just minutes later Pop was fighting for custody over me. The social worker arrived, her cold hand gripping my arm, and she took me. She was speaking things in English, which I don't know so well, but I think she said something about Gypsies- as if they were bad. I love being a Gypsy, though…"_

If I had read this before… before… just before, things may have turned out better. My heart aches for the young master, an innocent child pulled into something to dark for most of us to comprehend.

I am all but perfect, but through the years I have compiled what I believe is a complete account- a dangerous puzzle people would kill to keep quiet. I have compiled what I am near to sure is the most part of the story of my younger master, and as I have stumbled across each shocking discovery, my heart throbs and bleeds a little more for the one person who knew the whole story, the person to which this is not a _tale_ of treachery and death, but his very own life.

* * *

 **Part III**

* * *

Tim wasn't quite sure what to do with himself. Like, at all.

Surely a long dead Robin couldn't just leave him a card saying that if his butler gave it to you, you were suddenly _the_ Robin.

…Right?

He shivered, continuing his path across the grounds of Gotham Academy in a haze. He… was no hero. Goodness gracious, he couldn't even run a mile without losing his breath! One time during a kidnapping, he'd hid in the corner when the kidnappers were searching for him. People had been hurt. That was no heroism, that was cowardice.

Yeah. He openly admitted it. He was a coward.

He was okay with it, too. He didn't want to be selfish per say, but sometimes (okay, always) it was easier to just kinda hang out and trust that the _real_ heroes would protect you. Plus, he wasn't sure if Batman even _was_ a hero anymore.

At thirteen, it had been over five years since Dick and Jason died. Five years was a long time. Batman had changed… a lot. Just like Dick and Jason had predicted in their letters.

But didn't that make it even more prudent for him to become Robin?

He pushed into the hall, cowering under the height of the rest of the students. He was, despite his misgivings, a sophomore in highschool, causing his already undersized height to be completely dwarfed. See?! There was no way a midget could be a superhero! Superheroes were supposed to be the peak of humanity- tall, broad, chiseled, perfect faces and everything! Not _short_ with an obvious t-zone, scruffy black hair that looked like it was dragged out of an exaggerated manga for tweens- not to mention a (possibly unhealthy) obsession with hacking and certain unnamed Animes!

"Yo! Tiny Tim!"

Tim's thoughts screeched to a halt as Chase's words cut through his stupor. Now, Chase wasn't technically a jerk, but the tall and broad young man was a pain. Tim was a charity case in the well-meaning jock's eyes. Not to mention Chase was really bad at the whole "helping out" thing. This was further attested to as Tim got the wind beat out of him and stumbled to his knees when Chase slapped his back.

Tim mumbled, muttering to himself as he pushed green-rimmed glasses up on his nose and gathered his papers back up, dread mounting as he realized his carefully coordinated and organized pages were now anything but.

Chase waited patiently form him to stand, smiling all the while. He was sure the epitome of Gothamite charm, pitch black hair tucked neatly back and shining ice blue eyes peering over a chiseled and square nose accompanied by porcelain skin and painfully symmetric features. He stood at a clean and poised height of six two with muscles visible even through his blazer. This was what a Robin would look like, not… not acne-emo-nerdy-short-kid.

"Yes, Chase?" Tim mumbled.

"You coming to the party t'night? There'll be food, and girls, and food, and, uh, well, girls." He beamed.

Tim, meanwhile, gripped his textbooks close to his chest. "Uh… no thanks. I'm busy."

"Come on! With what?!"

"With, uh, studying, and, uh, I, UM…" truth is, he was re-binge-watching one of aforementioned unnamed Animes while, yes, studying that night. At least, that what he had been planning.

"Duuude, get a life! You're freakin' the son and heir of both Drake _and_ goodness' freakin' _Wayne Industries_! You need to have fun, there's no need to study when life's set for you!"

Well, that seemed counter-productive. "Um… I… I… um…" Tim really had no idea what to say to that. "I need to go. To, class, I mean." He walked away towards the bio-lab, cringing as Chase kept up with him.

"Come ooon, part-ay! With cheerleaders! I could even introduce you to my little sis, I dunno if you'd like her, she's kinda weird. She's like really smart and a hermit and stays in her room watching Anime all day, but-"

Tim froze. What? It was involuntary. "What animes…?"

Chase blinked. "Uh… Sword Gaming and um, Dragon Ballz?"

"You mean Sword Art Online and Dragon Ball Z?"

"Yeeah! But whatever, who likes anime anyway, it's for chicks and tweens, right?" Chase looked hopeful that Tim would be in agreement.

Instead, Tim looked sharply away, continuing his swift pace down the emptying hall. "Not really," he muttered too quietly to hear.

"Well, whatever. I'll even pick you up, if you want. I mean, really, bro. It will be fun! And I'm sure the girls will love you!" due to his long legs, Chase easily kept pace, waving his hands with a passion.

Tim didn't like girls. He was thirteen. He wasn't supposed to have fancies or any crap like that until he was older. He was happy drinking coffee, eating corn dogs, watching anime, reading, and studying. That's all he needed and certainly all he wanted.

Chase was getting more perturbed by his denial as they reached the library, not too far from the bio-lab. The jock reached out and grabbed his shoulder. Tim stiffened as he slowed in his tracks.

"Tiny Tim-"

Chase was interrupted as the doors to the library banged ceremoniously open and a red-head wheeled out in a wheel-chair rather superiorly. "Ugh!" she exclaimed. "What are you two doing?!"

Chase somehow paled, which was rather surprising with his already light skin. "O-oh, hi, Ms. Gordon. My friend Tim and I were just heading to the bio-lab-"

Her sharp brown eyes narrowed. "Tim? As in Timothy Drake?"

"Yeah, this is him." Chase pulled his hand back into his pocket.

"Well, Mr. Drake, do I have a bone to pick with you. You'd think someone as filthy rich as you would be able to pay your library fines, but _nooooo_ …" the red grabbed his wrist harshly after she'd said this and dragged him back into the library, leaving a poor, confused Chase in their dust.

Tim was lost on this point; he spent a lot of time at the library, too much time. He was there so often it would be near to impossible not to return a book on time. "Ms. Gordon, I'm… I'm afraid I'm confused."

Ms. Gordon nodded to the librarian, dragging him to the back and wheeling behind a table, motioning for Tim to sit across from her. Barbara was in charge of the entire Gotham County library system, and apparently today she was checking in on the Gotham Academy wing. Why she had recognized Tim was beyond his understanding.

All air of professionalism and haughtiness gone, the young woman huffed a deep and mournful sigh, sinking back into her seat. She sat there, just staring at him for a quite literally five minutes, and for Tim, this was about the most uncomfortable experience he had been through. She just _stared_.

Finally, she leaned forward. "Let me see it."

"W-what?" he stuttered.

"You know what."

"N-no, I really don't."

Ms. Gordon raised an eyebrow. "Dick gave it to Jay, Jay gave it to _you_."

Tim's heart screeched to a halt. "W-what?"

"I can see it in your eyes, sweetie. Now let me see it, I know you have it on you."

Tim trembled, hesitating. Ms. Gordon gave him time to contemplate before he reached carefully into his pocket and pulling out the now wrinkled papers. He handed them to her, fear lacing his movements. He hoped this would not turn to be a grave mistake.

As Ms. Gordon read, tears gathered in her eyes. By the time she got to the end of the first letter, they had begun to roll down her cheeks. "I haven't seen his writing in so long…" she whispered. "So long…"

Tim's eyes shimmered as the woman wiped her tears away to no avail. She choked, breaking down into herself. "Oh, Dickie… you idiot…"

After a time of silence, she straitened, steeling herself and opening Jason's letter. As she read, her face softened with grief and love whilst somehow simultaneously hardening with determination. She set it down, raising her eyes and sweeping her glasses away.

"Robin, my name is Oracle.

"Welcome to the Batfamily."

* * *

 **Part IV**

* * *

Jason was _this_ close to just pulling out his gun, training it on everyone's brains, and watching as he blasted them out with a satisfying splatter.

Because the _doe eyes._

This… wasn't right.

One glance from a brown-skinned, brown-eyed, brown-haired nine year old and he was having a _very_ hard time not becoming a terrorist. Because _goodness gracious_ , he wanted to freaking _kill_ these traffickers about a million times over in the most painful away he could imagine.

And… he could imagine pretty bad.

Beating their brains out… or gassing them with this _special_ poison he'd picked up… or- or! Oh! He could just, oh he didn't know, skin them alive and force them to live that way for three days without food or water or-

"Uh, Red Hood, what is so funny?"

Jason paused mid-laugh. He had no idea he had begun to chuckle darkly. "Nothing." He growled, laughing internally as everyone cowered under the voice modifier. He liked to think his normal voice was pretty scary, but he knew that if they found out he was barely seventeen he _might_ lose some respect.

He watched broodily as they continued their conversation, trying to gulp back his anger to remain the cool figure he was… or was supposed to be.

"The new shipment's coming in, says there's only fourteen but one of 'ems real unusual 'round here."

"When exactly is it coming in?"

Crette hummed a moment. "Tuesday. So two days."

Jay followed the conversation, internally choking as people discussed women and kids as _property_. He logically knew he needed to infiltrate further to take this whole ring crashing, but _emotionally_ , he was more than prepared to take everyone here out. He could only thank goodness' his changing and strained facial expressions didn't show through his helmet.

He huffed, leaning forward. "Anyone special gonna' be at the auction this time?"

Crette's eyes turned sickening as he grinned. "Oh yeah, we got some weird people comin'. Two Face is onea' them. Can ya imagine?"

"I wouldn't be too excited," Jason growled. "If it's Two-Face, he'll probably take your ring for his own."

On the one hand, Jason was not thrilled about a big-guy coming in. On the other, if Two-Face was making a move, he probably knew enough to take the ring down. Therefore, Jason just needed to bide his time a little longer to steal the intel and finish this job once and for all. But Two-Face was no idiot, Jay would have to be extremely careful.

The meeting continued on, and despite Jason's stark stand on his own maturity, he was still a teenager and by the end of the meeting was doodling images of everyone present finding unfortunate and painful deaths.

Wow… this reminded him of sixth grade.

* * *

 **So... I finally figured out the timeline for this story.**

After a lot of changing.

Basically, Dick was killed a little more than five years ago and Jason followed only about four months after.

Dick was killed age 15, and Jason 13.

Dick was brought back by the court of Owls about three months later. Jason was brought back by the Lazarus Pit about 1 year later.

Thus, Dick is perpetually 15 and Jay skipped a year of aging and is 17.

Tim was 8 when they died. He is now 13.

Babs was 17 and is now 21.

AAAND... yeah. Hope that's clear, I will not change.

...hopefully.

Review are the best! And so are you!

 _ **~Universe**_


	5. Chapter 5

**ION**

* * *

 **Part III**

* * *

If she wasn't still heart-sore over reading Dick's handwriting, Barbara would have laughed at this "Tim's" expression.

She had scanned him carefully upon their meeting, taking in everything about him. The boy certainly showed potential, but he needed some work. Okay, a lot, but she knew that he could make it. Wheeling out from behind the small desk, she nodded at the poor child.

"Come on, you're coming with me."

His beautiful blue eyes snapped up, and Barbara's lips softened into a smile. He was just a little boy. An innocent child tossed into a world of chaos. Her heart stilled, thoughts clouding her head. She had become Batgirl when she was sixteen, but Dick? Jason? They hadn't really ever had a choice. Dick had been dragged out of his home and to a new one. No one was forcing him to be a vigilante, but honestly, what else could he do? Jason had grown up on the streets, and he… she had never thought about this. And now… Tim… he was…

"Timothy?"

"Y-Yes?"

"Do…" she hesitated. "Do you _want_ to be Robin?""

He glanced to the side, shrugging.

"Timothy. Do you want to be Robin? Be honest." She slanted her eyes imploringly. "Please."

"I…" his voice cracked as his head lowered, his hands folding delicately in his lap. "I…" this time it was choked.

Barbara, like all bats, had never been all that good at touchy-feely stuff. But… her fleeting heart remembered the words of the person she held most dear.

 _"_ _Sh, sh… it's… okay. Well, it's not really. I know that, Babs. I do."_

Leaning forward, Barbara put her hands on Tim's shoulders. He flinched under their weight. "Timothy…? Tim…my? You… you don't need to look at me, but… I'd like to tell you it's okay. That being Robin, being stuck with Bruce… it's all okay. But," her eyes clenched , resisting the tears. "It's not. Not right now, at least. I know that."

Tim shook as he leaned into her hands, and she let him. Just like… just like Dick would have done.

 _"_ _But, it WILL be alright. I know you don't think you can, and… uh, well, you probably can't, if we're being logical, y'know. But… WE can."_

"Timmy, someone important to me once told me that… one person probably can't handle these trials. But… if one can't… then two can. I know we're not in the same shoes, or capes and cowls, but… I want you to know that… well… Bruce is a jerk. Dick and Jay had Bruce. But… you don't."

His hands tightened in her shirt. She took a deep breath as she continued. "But… also… I want to be there for you. I have someone I'd like you to meet. She and I… we're going to help you. But first, _do you want to be Robin_?"

The boy stilled, and as she helped him back to a sitting position, he shook his head hesitantly, tears streaming down his face. "N-no. I… can't. I'm not a hero. I'm a coward. I'm not strong. I can't even do a good mile in PE. I'm not smart. Well, not exactly true, but I can't, like, build a car! I can't help people- I…. I'm not… I'm no Wonder."

Barbara considered a moment. "Well, I can't run a mile in PE either." She smiled slightly, patting her wheelchair. "I'm smart. But when I was your age, I couldn't even drive… at least not very well. I'm no wonder. But I can help people. Wanna know how?"

He gave her that look that teenagers do so well, the one that says: "I know YOU can, I KNOW that. But it doesn't work like that for real life problems."

"Because I want to help. I try. Without work, you aren't going to get anything done, Timmy. People have to face that no matter what they think, success isn't magical. But Timmy, I just… you don't have to be Robin. But let me teach you. Please."

He stared at her with those blue eyes, so, so blue, so shocking… wavering and glistening. Then his head bowed. "I… can't."

"You will. Now follow me."

He stared at her. "Promise you'll…"

"I promise."

* * *

 **Part I**

* * *

He had nearly fallen asleep before something exciting happened. And as a previous Talon (with the same abilities), that was pretty amazing.

The box opened, and he flinched back from the light, trying to keep the sleep façade up.

"Hey, kid, wake uuuup." He was nudged by a hand. Having had enough touching for a life-time, he snapped his own hand out, gripping the offender's with a vise.

"OW!"

Talon flicked his eyes open, letting them adjust before flipping out of the trunk, more than anxious to get out of the confined space. He opened his mouth, issuing a soft hiss.

"OH crap! WHAT is wrong with you?!"

He cocked his head, staring imploringly at the young man in front of him. Dark brown hair, almost auburn, swayed over charcoal eyes and a soft sprinkle of freckles. The kid had a pointed chin and a lithe build, crouching by his recent confines.

He just stared at the kid, who started to look uncomfortable, stumbling to his feet and looking sidelong at him. "Uh… you're weird."

He cocked his head in response, leaning back like a cat on its haunches.

"I'm Secha. And you are…?"

He didn't even twitch this time.

Secha pursed his lips. "Look, I'm trying to help you out. Least you could do is give me a name."

He straightened, raising his nose to the air and taking a whiff, ears swiveling. Someone was coming. Secha just stared harder. He shook his head, immediately assessing a way of escape before recalling that he had planned to stay and help people out. Whoever needed him. His eyes flicked, training on Secha's. Did… did this boy need his help?

Secha looked uncomfortable at his shift in focus. "Uh… d'you need something?"

He shook his head, pointing towards the door and reluctantly wandering back to the trunk, climbing in. "Wait- you want to _stay_?" Secha asked incredulously. He shrugged in response.

"You do know they're gonna auction you off like a horse."

He stilled, drawing in a shaky breath in attempt to calm his heart. N-no. _I'm a person. I… I'm not just a piece to be sold. You're a person. A person. A person. Alive…_ His heart broke upon remembering that he certainly _wasn't_ alive.

He buried his nose in the crook of his arm, hoping Secha would take the hint before whoever was coming got here.

The kid didn't, sitting beside his trunk and trying to convince him to come out, even as the door slammed open. "Secha." A low voice growled. The kid immediately jumped to his feet, and he could hear the boy's heart speed drastically.

"R-Red Hood! Sir, I was-"

"Just messing around again. Open your eyes, kid. I should kill you."

"I-I know. Then why don't you?"

"Secha," Red Hood seemed to sigh. "You're just a kid. You have a life ahead of you. I'm not going to take that away from you. But instead of trying to help people in your free time, I suggest you help yourself."

Secha stood, seemingly seething at the man's words as his head buzzed from his sleep-façade on the floor. His usually still heart thumping, confusion pumped through his lifeless veins. The smell in the air from this new man, Red Hood, it was… he…

"I'm not going to do that, Red Hood sir. I'm not in a great position but neither is anyone here, and I plan to help them."

"I know. But then I'll have to kill you. I really don't want to kill you, Secha."

"I don't see why not! You're just as bad as any of those pimps-"

The anger he sensed growing in Red Hood broke free, and the man crashed the kid toward the wall. "I am _nothing_ like them, and you won't forget that, Secha. Now get out. Get out."

The anger drained from the man as he leaned back. Secha hesitated, eyes straying towards the box in which he hid before dashing out. "You'll go to heck, Red Hood. Just remember that." He whispered as he disappeared.

He heard a thump as Red Hood fell to a seat on another box. "I already have. I'm so sorry, Secha. Sorry sorry sorry." His voice modifier faded out, leaving a surprisingly young voice broken in its wake.

"I've already been there."

* * *

 **Part II**

* * *

Today I must take you to meet someone. It's the best way to explain this story.

I stand as I continue to write these words, making my way downstairs to a car. Master Bruce is out on some minor cases tonight and won't need me. And if he does, I have my phone ready to call. I grab the keys, exiting into the garage and getting in one of the less conspicuous cars. My car. I do not use it much as my own personal past-times aren't priority, but it is important in times like these.

As I drive through the Gotham suburbs, I reflect on what is about to happen. I pull into the driveway of a humble home, making my way to the door and ringing the bell. A darling five year old dressed as a fairy answers, laughing and running inside to fetch her mother, her nine year old twin brothers chasing her along with a toddler.

A moment later, a simply glowing young woman answers the door. She wears an apron caked in flour, but her smile is so beautiful it lights up the cold Gotham night. As I enter, my attention is brought to focus on a huge painting of Christ in their entryway. A piano is being played by one of the nine-year olds now, the boy eyeing me as he stumbles through what I believe is a hymn in amateur skill.

Sitting on the couch is a man, not much older than the children's mother- their father. He has an infant beside him and is reading scriptures aloud to the child as his daughter returns to what appears to be painting his toenails rather sloppily. I smile at the homey feeling, remembering vaguely the feeling of when Master Richard and Jason still brought light to the manor.

The father looks up, his eyes widening. He jumps up, leaving his little girl pouting as her canvas is taken away. "Mr. Pennyworth! I'm so sorry! We had Cub Scouts tonight and I totally forgot you were coming! Uh- uh… Mom?" he looks to his wife.

"I got it." She winks. "Okay guys- PJ race, go!" Immediately all the children scramble to the stairs, yelling as they fight their way to their rooms. She then picks the baby out of her husband's arms, pecking him on the cheek. "I'll put Mark to bed then finish the bread. Have fun." she waved.

"Right." Her husband snorts. She smiles, plucking a bow his daughter had mostly likely placed there out of his hair.

As she leaves, the man turns to me. "So… what exactly do you want to know, and why do you keep writing in that book? Also, please take a seat." he asks.

I smile pleasantly, doing as directed and sitting on the worn couch across from him. "Well, Mr. Heim, I am writing because it is essential I don't miss a detail. As for what I'd like to know, just as much as you recall."

He takes a deep breath, slumping back into the couch. "Yes. Well, before Dick came to the Detention Center, things were very dark form me." His eyes get a distant look in them.

To let you understand, his name is Charles Heim. He grew up in Gotham, before getting arrested and put in the Juvenile Hall. He was Master Richard's cellmate. However, the once-abusive young man took a turn for the better shortly after my Master left the Hall. He got a new cellmate, one framed for a crime. A child visiting from far away with a strong belief in Christ. Those months were critical in young Charle's life. He was converted, attending a Christian College and marrying into a strong family and raising on of his own. Master Dick would be overjoyed to see such a beautiful change in someone's life.

Charles has agreed to tell us what he remembers from his time with Master Richard. I can only hope that it is enough to fill the gap in the story I am telling.

* * *

 **I AM ALIIIIIIIIIIIIIIVE!**

Surprise, right? O.O

So actually, I'm trying to write more... but... I might possibly... just pretend I'm dead... and you will never know. O.o

XD Anywaaaay maybe if I gets lots of loves then I can writes more! But, ah, no promises *pales* *leaves*

Anyway! Byyyye my dears!

 _ **~Universe**_

 _But now I'm... I'm Techno... should I sign it that way? ...Naaaah_


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